When I think of the name “Timmy” an image comes to mind. I picture some little boy about three years old holding a stuffed animal (like a little lamb) and as he is looking up says, “Mommy, will you hold my hand.”

Recently, three of my children went to Reasor’s grocery store, pooled their money together and bought a small Venus Fly Trap plant for $5. The little plant has sixteen “traps”. The most I’ve ever seen. Then they decided to give it a name. Ginny said, “What about flyer?” Everyone said no. Then Benjamin said what about Timmy and everyone agreed. So they named him Timmy. I like the irony in their plant’s name. On the outside our harmless little “Timmy” plant is a flourishing, refreshing bright green young one with delicate tiny hairlike fibers along the edges of its leaves. But on the inside little Timmy is a merciless fly-flesh eating glutton. Since yesterday my kids have fed it three flies and it has caught one by itself. It has also eaten a few sugar ants that were lured to their death by the enticing aroma coming from the leaves.
As I continued to ponder the name another thought came to my mind. At work, I know a Timmy. He’s a big black guy with broad shoulders who works in the porcelain finish part of our manufacturing plant. He used to work part time at the YMCA (lifting weights in his spare time). One time several years ago I worked with Timmy making doors for ranges. He went to that area because of his good friend from high school. His name was Jimmy. Jimmy was tall and thin with red hair and freckles. One time Jimmy claimed he and Timmy were twins. Yeah, sure it’s true their names rhymed like twin names oughta, but their resemblance on the other hand. . . was very lacking.